CHAPTER III.
THE SOUTHERN FLOWER COMES TO THE NORTH.
Some miles south of Vasa, on the sixty-third degree of latitude, the Bay of Finland, which has hitherto gone straight north and south, makes a perceptible bend towards the north-east. The great blue Baltic following the same direction, narrows for a moment in the "Qvark," widens again, and leans its bright brow against Finland's breast. Freer there than anywhere else, the winds from the Arctic Ocean sweep over these coasts and drive the waves with terrible violence against the rocks. In the midst of this stormy sea, lie Gadden's bare flat ledges, with their warning lighthouse and far projecting reefs. When the mountain winds shake their wings over these breakers, then woe unto the vessel which, without a sure rudder and lightly furled sails, ventures through the narrow passage at "Understen"—its destruction is certain. But in the middle of summer it often happens that a slightly northern wind is the most welcome, and promises clear skies and fine weather. Then fly many hundreds of sails from the coast out towards "Qvark's" islands and reefs, to cast their nets for shoals of herrings; and the restless, murmuring sea dances like a loving mother, with her daughters, the green islands, resting upon her bosom.
With the exception of Aland and Ekenäs there is no part of Finland's coast so rich with luxuriant vegetation as "Qvark" and its neighbouring east shore. These innumerable islets, of which the largest are Wallgrund and Björkö, are here sprinkled about like drops of green in the blue expanse, and formed a parish by themselves called "Replotchapel," inhabited only by fishermen. So numerous are these groups, so infinitely varied the sounds, so intricate the channels, that a strange vessel could not find its way out without a native pilot at the helm. Thirty cruisers here would be insufficient to prevent smuggling; there is only one means of putting a stop to this inherited sin of the coast, and this method is a light tariff with but few prohibitions; Finland during later years has tried it with success and to her own advantage.
At the same period as described in the preceding chapter, therefore in the middle of August, 1632, the waters of the Baltic were divided by the royal man-of-war "Maria Eleonora," bound from Stockholm to Vasa to transport the recruits for the German War. It was a bright fine summer morning. Over the wide sea played an indescribable glitter, which was at the same time grand and enchantingry beautiful. A boundless field of snow, illumined by the spring sun, can rival it in splendour, but the snow is stillness and death, the shimmering waves are motion and life.
A slumbering sea in its resplendency, is grandeur clothed in the smile of delight; he is a sleeping giant, who dreams of sunbeams and flowers. Gently heaves his breast; then the plank rocks underneath thy feet, and thou tremblest not; he could swallow thee up in his abyss, but he mildly spreads his golden carpet under the keel, and he, the strong, bears the frail bark like a child in his arms.
It was immediately after sunrise. The monotonous silence of sea-life prevailed on board the vessel during the morning watch, as when no danger is feared. Part of the crew were still asleep below the deck, only the mate, wrapped in a jacket of frieze, walked to and fro on the aft deck. The helmsman stood motionless at the rudder, the man in the round top peered ahead, and here and there on the fore deck stood a sailor, fastening a loose rope end, carrying wood to the caboose, or polishing the guns which were to salute Korsholm when they entered that port.
The stern discipline of a modern man-of-war was at that time almost unknown. There were no uniforms or steam whistles, nor any of the complex signals and commands which are now carried to such perfection. Then a man-of-war scarcely differed from a merchant vessel, excepting in size, armament, and the number of officers and men she carried. When one remembers that at that time there was neither whisky or coffee on board to protect against the chill morning air—they had, however, already learned from the Dutch to use an occasional quid of tobacco for this purpose—then it is readily perceived that life on the "Maria Eleonora" bore very little resemblance to that on board one of our modern men-of-war.
By the green gunwale of the deck stood two female figures, with wide travelling hoods of black wool on their heads. One of these passengers was small in atature, and showed under her hood an old wrinkled face, with a pair of peering grey eyes; she had wrapped herself up in a thick wadded cloak of Nurberg cloth. The other figure was tall and slender, and wore a tight-fitting capote of black velvet lined with ermine. Leaning against the gunwale, she regarded with a gloomy air the fast receding waves left in the vessel's wake. Her features could not be seen from the deck; but if one could have caught her countenance from the mirroring waves, it would have exhibited a classically beautiful pale face, illuminated by two black eyes, which surpassed in lustre the shining wave-mirrors themselves.
"Holy Mary!" cried the old woman in strongly pronounced Low German, "when will this misery come to an end, that the saints have imposed upon us on account of our sins? Tell me, my little lady, in what part of the world we are now? It appears to me as if a whole year had passed since we sailed from Stralsund; for since we left the heretic's Stockholm I have not kept account of the days. Every morning when I rise, I say seven aves and seven pater nosters, as the revered Father Hieronymus taught us, as a protection against witchcraft and evil. One can never know; the world might end here, and we have now come far away from the rule of the true believing Church and Christian people. This sea has no end. Oh, this horrible sea! I now praise the River Main, which flows so peacefully underneath our turret windows in Würzburg. Say, lady, what if over there, on the horizon, the earth ends, and that we are sailing straight into purgatory?"
The tall slender girl did not seem to listen to her loquacious duenna. Her dark brilliant eyes under the black eyelashes were resting pensively on the water, as if in the waves she could read an interpretation of the dream of her heart. And when at times a long swell from former storms rolled forth under the smaller waves, and the ship gently careened, so that the gunwale dipped close to the water, and the image in the sea approached the girl on board, then a smile could be seen on her beautiful features, at once proud and melancholy, and her lips moved inaudibly, as if to confide her inmost thoughts to the waves.